Lonely Treads the Fragile Madman
Lonely treads the fragile madman
with half-steps shuffling,
Shading his face sunken, wan
wandering, wondering.
His arms mere wires, stiff and crooked
he lightly pats his thighs,
He beckons you with fingers hooked
and stares into your eyes.
Through your eyes and through your head
his eyes pierce you through.
Yes, he asks although you dread,
“Merry, is it you?”
His sullied belt a titan size
tight enough to strangle
Reminds him of those kind blue eyes
when arms around him tangled,
When arms held tight about his sides
along the old canal –
The path where barge-mules pulled the rides
through clematis petals.
The night-wind blew his hair back then
as spring rushed down the valley.
In this blazing heat not a wind
stirs the littered alley.
Yet he shouts into frenzied winds,
with voice that fades away,
Down darkened vista to a friend
returned not yesterday –
The hollow socket of his eye
the gauntness of his cheeks
The stooped frame that shuffles by
turns to you and shrieks,
“Merry, Merry is it you,
you know I never lied,
Have I wandered eternity through
have I finally died?
“Oh, please, dear Lord, please have it so,
I’ve suffered for the moves
That made a torment for three below
a torment of three loves.
“For I held two though wanted one
took too long to act
When at last I did she was gone
’twas I who broke the pact.
“Who was I to have had two
whilst others never know,
Whilst others live their whole lives through
never to see the glow?
“A spring and summer I had both –
twice what many have.
Fifty springs I’ve sought by troth
the one that heaven gave.
But that heaven that gives a blessing
replaces it with rue,
Till by the end we wander guessing,
“Merry, it is you?”
You are wounded by his words
his tongue impales your soul.
You sidle by and commence forward
with your towpath stroll.
“What is this love that still I bear
what is this divine ruse?
Shed you laughter, Lord, shed you tear
for this love bemused?”
His shrill voice at your tingling back,
those green eyes unblinking
Freeze you in your stuttered tracks
send your heart a-sinking.
“At last I know it’s you this time
I know those eyes of blue
I’m weak, I’m weak, all out of lines,
Merry, say ’tis you.”
You turn back to the trembling hands,
back to the knitted brow,
A frail and starving, unkempt man
a voice that whispers now,
“Every curve and every line
every hue and shade
I’ve burned with light upon my mind –
a light that does not fade,
“The eyes of love and her smile
my back within her hands –
Fifty years are a short while
if she would understand.”
Perfect love dispels of fear
you boldly walk to him,
Closer you see the lash and tear
all that remains between them.
Through your eyes and through your head
his eyes pierce you through.
Yes, he asks though you do not dread,
“Merry, is it you?”
His unblinked eyes are wavy panes
into which you stare.
Ancient glass reflects the pain –
the pain that many share.
And there a love you disinter
that love gone forever,
The first, the last, the most tender
that promised never, never.
Whispering through lips that quiver
he closes out his lines.
He smiles once, begins to shiver,
“Oh Merry, ’tis you this time.”
Into your arms the albatross,
all who have loved must bear,
“Love itself is worth all loss,
don’t ask whether fair.”
Into endless love he enters,
that love gone forever,
The first, the last, the most tender
“Dear Lord, bring us together.”
© 2013 KS Culbreth.
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